Terra's Evening Of Debauchery, or Boys' Night Out
by LGold
Summary: When Celes and Locke became engaged following events in the World of Ruin, no-one was particularly surprised. What confuses Celes and Locke is how on earth they ended up letting their friends plan their hen and bachelor nights, respectively. Hilarity ensues.
1. Chapter 1

**"Celes!"**

"What!"

"I just heard, you **have to let me plan your hen night**"

"I don't know if that's such a good idea-"

"But it'll be **so much fun**, please let me plan it!"

"I don't-"

"**Please!**"

"I"

"**Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplea sepleasepl**-"

"**Okay**"

"-**ease****_awesome_**"

"Okay. Oh god."

"_This is going to be so much fun, _we can invite all the girls we know! Like, you, and me, and… I guess Katarin's got her baby so, um…"

"So you and me?"

"Yeah! It's going to be _so _much fun! So what do you do on a hen night, exactly?"

* * *

In retrospect, she should have seen it coming. That had certainly been true of the proposal itself, from the moment Locke had turned up at her door that night, with tickets to the opera.

He had been wearing a… memorable suit in purple velvet that she was sure she'd seen on a bidder at the auction house in Jidoor the other week, and perhaps because of that was a pleasantly tight fit, and on his face was an expression halfway between smitten and panicking. Possibly his intentions could have been clearer if he'd actually had them tattooed on his face, but not by much.

Despite herself, Celes had melted a little even though he hadn't said the words, but – no, she had a better idea. She tugged Locke into a hug of greeting, trailing her hands down his back. And then further down – wow, either the suit's trouser pockets were far too small or Locke was _much _bigger than that bidder, and did he _actually _have no idea what she was doing right now or was he actually too distracted by her hand's placement, because _really, _Locke?_ Really? _They were standing in the front door_ in front of the whole world, _what did he think she was, one of those harlots from Zozo?

And then Celes finally got a grip on that tiny, tiny box she'd known would be in there, and any disgruntlement vanished as she stepped back and he stepped back and they both stared at the ring between them. Each was caught by astonishment for different reasons: Locke really _had _been distracted, and Celes had known there was a ring but – there it was. It was real. It was really very real.

Celes tore her gaze from the ring (and it was so _shiny, _she'd seen an awful lot of rings, it seemed like they were everywhere, but – _shiny_) and looked at Locke. Locke blinked rapidly and looked back.

"Will you marry me?"

They both said it, but Celes said it a fraction of a second earlier (or so she insisted) and so as they walked down the road that led to the (heavily refurbished) opera house it was Locke's hand on which that shiny, shiny ring was fitted.

("You're _sure _it won't kill you or turn you into a zombie or curse our descendants?" Brief pause. Heavy blushing on both sides. "Your! Curse _your_ descendants."

"No, definitely not, I ran all sorts of checks."

"Good." Pause in conversation, fumbled ring-putting-on, absence of death noises. Resumed walking. "You know, I like the idea of _our_ descendants."

Resounding slap. Resumed walking. Long silence.

"… Maybe I don't really mind it either.")

And all the world could see that he was hers.

* * *

"Katarin? It'll be so nice for her to get out of Mobliz!" What with the pure happiness Terra exhibited at the very idea, Celes had to concede that it would indeed be nice. "And… do Edgar or Sabin have girlfriends?"

"Sabin is a monk, Terra. I think girlfriends are generally frowned upon."

"Yes, but so is beating people up, and he does that all the time!"

"True. You could ask him. Edgar's girlfriend, last time I checked, was the entire female population of Figaro. I draw the line at asking them to my hen night."

"Oh. But I like Figaro's high priestess!"

"I think hen nights, along with romantic engagements, are generally avoided by members of the cloth, but feel free to ask her."

"Okay! So that's… a whole possible two people, and us, already! What about Mr Setzer's girlfriend?"

"You remember the endless, zombie-filled tomb?"

"Oh. Dead?"

"Dead."

"Mr Cyan?"

"Family murdered, including wife."

"Oh. Oh! What about Locke's friend, that nice Rachel girl? Did she ever get better?"

"No, and are you now _intentionally_ being horrifically inappropriate?!" As soon as her mouth closed, Celes winced a little. She felt sort of like she'd kicked a particularly adorable puppy, and Terra's expression suggested she'd watched her do it. Her enthusiasm appeared to have abated significantly.

"I just," muttered Terra, sadly, "I just want you to have a nice night." Abashed, Celes looked away, and the two sat in silence for a few moments.

"Oh! How could I forget! What about Relm?"

"Terra. Relm is a _nine year old." _

_"Really?_ I mean, I know I didn't spend that much time with her, but I never would have guessed, she always seemed very mature and Edgar always seemed to be-"

Her mouth closed mid sentence, very slowly, at almost the same glacial pace as the raising of Celes' eyebrows. This was the first she'd heard of such a thing, and yet she found herself astonishingly unsurprised.

"King Edgar Roni Figaro," said Celes, slowly, after another minute of silence, "is a massive creep. Strago can babysit Relm, and Katarin's baby, he said he wasn't really up to going out these days. As for… Edgar… the less time he spends around my Locke, the better."

* * *

"Locke! Why didn't you tell us you'd finally proposed?"

Locke looked up from his map - the recent upheavals had made the art of treasure hunting far more difficult, but he was enjoying the challenge. He groaned internally. Locke was well aware of Celes' views on Edgar, and had been hoping ineffectively that he wouldn't find out about their approaching marriage. That didn't really make sense, because of _course _they would have to include Edgar in the wedding party itself. However, Locke had been hoping that if he avoided Edgar for long enough, he might also avoid-

"How many opportunities do you think we get to plan a bachelor party?"

This.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: With thanks to my friend, FF-guru and behind-the-scenes co-author for supplying many ideas for the story, this chapter and the next in particular. For the delay and the chapter split I'm blaming Setzer, who was ****_nowhere _****in any of the plans but who once he started ranting simply would not shut up :P  
As ever, I own nothing but a vaguely warped sense of humour.**

* * *

Okay, so she'd clearly seen it coming. _Not a problem, _Locke had told himself as they headed up the road towards the opera house. He could still be suave and charming and funny and sophisticated and chivalrous but not stifling or misogynistic and in every way the man Celes deserved and _oh_ _gods _he wasn't good enough. He never would be. He had locked her into marriage with a man undeserving to call himself her partner-

Celes tugged on his hand briefly, her fingers slipping unnecessarily over the ring. It was that tug on the ring that brought him back. She'd asked him. She wanted him. Celes thought he was good enough, and maybe that was all that mattered. Locke knew, like contours in a map suddenly matching up with the landscape, that Celes knew all he could be – Rachel and the tight ball of pain that would always be with him somehow, rash judgements and cries of traitor where none were deserved, the fact that he would work on and through all of this until the day he died – and she chose him. It would be okay. He would be okay.

Setzer had dropped them off half a mile from the opera house itself, for once without any condescending or lascivious eyebrow-raising in his or Celes' directions, respectively. Okay, so maybe he'd seemed less than thrilled when Locke had first asked him if he could possibly give thema lift from Mobliz and then wait around all evening.

* * *

_"So Kefka blew up the world and wrecked the entire concept of geography._ _That doesn't mean you all have to go live on_ completely separate islands. _Or, fun new concept, you could hire a boat! Does_ this" _– angry gestures – "look like a boat? Any of it?"_

_Locke frowned. "It… it kind of does, actually." The interjection didn't seem to improve Setzer's mood._

_"Or maybe if you find a chocobo and poke it hard enough, it will decide to fly! Then maybe it'll decide to stop while you're over the ocean and you'll fall in and you'll drown and_ people will finally stop asking me for lifts._ Do I look like a chocobo to you? Do I? Ye gods, maybe I should just give in and spend my life flying around the world seeing if people need help." He started climbing back up_ The Falcon_'s ladder. "Wow, I wonder how everyone is in Narshe, I'd better go there right away, _bye."

_Well, thought Locke, that went well. "You didn't seem to mind before."_

_"Yeah. When the _world was ending._" Setzer began to wind up the rope ladder, but Locke caught hold before it was out of his reach. Rolling his eyes, Setzer carried on pulling until Locke dangled only a few feet below him. "Hell of a drop there, boy," he added, quietly but with an undertone of concern. "I wouldn't have expected you to go to these lengths for the sake of a lift."_

_"I wouldn't have expected you to get so angry over a lift," Locke retorted, uncomfortably aware that the wooden rungs were beginning to slip under his sweaty palms. Setzer was silent for what felt, to Locke, like a short infinity, but he sensed it was probably important not to interrupt with, for instance, a request to be pulled up into the airship._

_"I suppose I just thought. Well. It sounds foolish – I thought I'd found some friends. People who could understand that… People who could understand. I wouldn't have let just anyone fly _Blackjack,_ and certainly not _Falcon. _We save the world, everyone settles down, _on different continents, of course_, and I become nothing but the go-to guy for island-hopping."_

_"You're not," Locke flailed his way up to a position where he could rest his elbows on the rung, "I mean, you were our friend. You are. I don't think any of us realised you felt this isolated, but Setzer, please, it would mean a lot to me if you could help me out just this once. And I'm sure the wedding will be a great way to get back into the swing of things."_

_Setzer's set expression cracked, a little. "You're-?"  
_  
_"I'm proposing to Celes," said Locke. He felt himself grinning uncontrollably, spontaneously, he'd said it he'd really said it _he was proposing to Celes. _"I'm proposing to Celes, I – oh god I'm going to ask her to marry me and I really, really want it to be a romantic night for us. And not on a boat." Setzer had turned his face away. "It would mean a lot if you could help. You know, be involved. As our friend."_

_Okay, he was aware that sounded sort of a little extraordinarily cheesy but it was true, completely true, and seemed to have worked – Setzer had strode off from the open hatch without another word. A second, and Locke squeezed his eyes closed, could have hit himself if only he'd had a hand free – Setzer, proposals, lost opportunities, lost loves and a ball of pain that would never go away._

_He opened his eyes again as the rung of the ladder shuddered under his fingers with the vibration of _The Falcon's_ engine firing up._

_"I'll do it," came Setzer's voice over the racket, more gravelly than normal. "Just let me know when. I'll do it."_

_Locke's irrepressible smile made a comeback. "You will? I- Thank you!" He felt his stomach give a lurch, looked down, saw the ground receding beneath them._

_"Setzer?!"_

_"Hm?"_

_"I'm still on the ladder!"_

_"Really?"_

_"Could you – put me down!"_

_"Oh." You could_ hear_ the smirk in his voice. "Sure." There was the click of a dropped lever, and the ladder rushed downwards between his hands. As it reached its full extension he was jerked off sharply, windmilling backwards with a yelp into thin air before landing, screaming and praying alternately, on the hard, rocky, unforgiving- _

_Ocean._

* * *

Stupid Setzer, thought Locke, glancing backwards to where the airship idled beneath a few light clouds in a summer evening sky. But he had come through with the lift.

Locke had asked to be dropped off a short walk from the opera house (although, really, a short walk for ex-Returners could easily constitute the length of a continent.) Setzer had obliged, and the building's fantastically elaborate façade came into view after a mile's easy stroll, during which Celes became increasingly excitable and (though Locke didn't voice this thought for fear of another slap) adorable.

She'd wanted to see the Opera of Draco and Maria in full ever since, well, performing it. She really, _really _wanted to find out how it ended, because apparently the impresario had had such faith in their decoy-kidnapping plan that he hadn't actually bothered to give her the script for act two. And the performance as a whole sort of – sidelong glance through hair with slightly blushing smile while Locke's heart did little tiny flip-flops in his chest – had some sentimental associations for her.

"Why did you never mention all this before? I mean, I also have, um, associations, and I thought you might – I hoped-"

"I suppose…" She stopped, sighted, shook her head. "I suppose I thought you might think me silly for holding on to an idea like that. Being fixated on a particular notion of how things should turn out..."

"No, it makes sense." Even now, even when things were better, it could feel like everything would always lead back to Rachel. Locke sighed. And yet… "I know I've been obsessed with things to the point of, you know, heartbreak and death and destruction, which, okay, is an extreme example, but it's important to finish things. I know it, we both do. It's the only way you can move on to something different. Better. New aims, new memories."

"In any case," replied Celes blithely, "Even if you did think I was silly, you're stuck with me now." She squeezed his hand a little tighter as they ambled through the pleasant, twilight-dappled woodland. Nestling on tree branches were small, fluffy creatures which didn't even try to attack them.

Locke should have known it was too good to last.

* * *

The moon had risen and the starlight looked set to out-twinkle the darkness by the time they arrived back at the airship. At the sound of their approaching footsteps, Setzer appeared, yawning, in the lit hatch to lower the ladder. As they stepped numbly onto the ladder and into the light, Setzer caught sight of their faces.

He stopped yawning abruptly and grabbed hold of the winching mechanism; Locke, dazed, helped Celes onto _The Falcon's _deck only seconds later. The moment her boots touched the wood, Celes strode off in the direction of the cabins, her mouth straight and expression set in what Locke had always mentally termed the General Celes Face.

Locke shook his head desperately in an attempt to clear it from the insanity that had clearly pervaded the world in the last three hours. It slowly dawned on him that Setzer was trying to ask him something.

"Gods, are you okay? Were you attacked? It wasn't someone who used to work for Kefka – or Kefka himself! Locke, did you get jumped by Kefka?!"

Kefka. Well, that _would _explain the insanity… "No. No, we didn't get attacked."

"Then what happened? Why did Celes-"

"Hey, Setzer, remember when we first met?"

Setzer quirked an eyebrow. "How could I forget? I seem to recall you tricking me into kidnapping your _fiancé _while in the middle of the opera." He paused, and took in the fixed horror on Locke's face. "The… opera you just went to see."

"Turns out the impresario liked our impromptu rewriting of act two so much, he made it the official ending. Rewrote all the scripts and everything. That airship prop," Locke added, still lost in a reverie of dramatic disaster, "must be really expensive to crash _every single night._"

"Really?" Setzer looked interested. "I should charge royalties."

"_And _the events that occurred before that. Maria didn't look very happy, even in character. Celes said she'd heard there was another major aria for her in the second act, but I suppose they cut that in favour of that scene with… You know, I'd always wondered what happened to Ultros."

"Wow." Setzer seemed to reconsider for a moment. "Oh. _Wow." _

"And this was really important to Celes! I didn't even realise just how important until tonight, but it is, and there's no way we can fix the opera, they're raking in money with the _new and improved _version. I have to…" Locke caught his breath, blinked rapidly. His mouth moved silently for a moment. "Setzer," he said, steadily, "I have a really bad idea."

"Well, that'd be a first."

"You have to take me to South Figaro."

"South Figaro," repeated Setzer, flatly. "Why."

"I need to see Cyan."

"And I'm the only one who can take you? Are you proposing to him, too?"

"This is for Celes, and it needs to be done as fast as possible. Tonight, after we drop her back home. I think I know what I can do."


	3. Chapter 3

"Cyan. I need your help."

"Master Locke! Why hast thou-"

"Cyan, I know you can speak properly and we don't have much time, so quit it with the Mr Thou. I need help, and you're the only person I can think of who might be able to do something."

He took a step back as Cyan's eyes slowly narrowed and his moustache seemed almost to twirl a little more. Before Locke's eyes Cyan transformed into the fearsome and fearless retainer to the king of Doma, regardless of admirably fluffy pyjamas and pom-pommed nightcap. His eyebrows met as he glared over Locke's shoulder into the city beyond his front door. It was late enough at night that the streets twisted emptily away into the darkness; Cyan scanned the area for several long moments before ushering Locke in, apparently satisfied of their privacy.

"Now, thou shouldst be aware that _Bushido in the Bedroom _is an art practiced exclusively by the samurai who hath trained-"

"What? _No!" _

"No?"

"No!"

"… Oh." Cyan gave a carefully calibrated cough. "How might I be of service, Master Locke?"

Locke took a deep breath. Here went nothing…  
"Would you happen to own the original script to _The Opera of Draco and Maria_?"

It was a long shot. It was a really, _really _long shot. If he stood at the entrance to Zozo and got out his slingshot and took aim at Mount Zozo-

"Of course!"

-It probably _wouldn't _be as long a shot as all that, thought Locke, almost dizzy with relief, because this was Cyan. Cyan, who was currently and with great aplomb flinging open the doors to what appeared to be an archive of every novel, script or libretto ever published that could possibly hold the slightest hint of romance.

(The reading desks were scattered with vases of flowers and carefully-shielded lanterns holding perfumed candles. There were also discretely-placed boxes of tissues. Locke didn't ask.)

His next request, it seemed, would be a mere formality.  
"And would you help me to perform an amateur production in," Locke glanced out the window to where the eastern sky had taken on a golden glow, "About twelve hours?"

From the look on Cyan's face, it would be nothing short of a dream come true.

"I must say," confided Cyan as he rifled through the shelves in search of the relevant title, "While the _Dream Oath Opera _is an excellent choice, mine own belief is that the true star in the annals of stage _amour _must be _I Want To Be Your Canary. _Wouldst thou not rather perform that?_"  
_"No, no, it has to be the-" Locke stopped, staring Cyan right in his innocently pom-pommed face. "Canary."

"It is _astoundingly_ romantic!"

_"Canary."_

"Ah! _Ye Dream Oathe Opera – a Tale of Love, Honour and Chocobos! Cominge Soone!"_ Cyan brandished a bundle that seemed to be comprised more of string and prayers than actual script. "Original pre-release edition! One of the ones out of Doma castle library!" A few angry moths fluttered out of the papers and into the lanterns Cyan had forgotten to close in his excitement, where they promptly became tastefully-perfumed ash. Locke stared.

"Are you sure that script will stay in one piece for long enough?"

"Certainly, my dear boy! And if not…" Cyan's face transformed once again into the triumphant battle glare that had frozen Doma's enemies in their tracks for a full generation, **_"I know every note of it."_**

* * *

Unbeknownst to Locke, a small figure had been following them through the shadows ever since his arrival, undetected even by Cyan. Living in the Figaro kingdom, of all places, where fancy mechanisms like the winch and the pump were practically a way of life, Cyan occasionally found himself in need of moral support from another man who was most certainly not a technophobe, humph, don't know the meaning of the word. So it was that, that night, Cyan's hushed conversation with Locke took place under the cover of Strago's earth-shaking snores, issuing from the guest bedroom.

And there was Gau to think of. Gau, who had insisted on staying with Cyan come what may, even if that meant a return to civilisation and trousers. Neither would ever claim to have adopted the other; neither could ever really replace what the other had lost. Nevertheless, Cyan and Gau provided for each other something necessary and unspoken, and they were happy.

Something necessary, but not everything. Gau was fifteen, Cyan was… not. And while there was no shortage, in this broken world, of children who had lost their families one way or another, few had also stood face to terrifying face with that world-destroying evil itself. So it was that Relm, on many occasions – on _this _occasion – accompanied her grandfather in his visits.

And, denied by the death of magic of her most intriguing talent, what could be more natural to Relm than taking the opportunity to hone her other? Besides, eavesdropping was always fun.

"Well of course," Cyan was saying, as Relm peered around the library door, "I shall depict Ralse. Misguided though he is, the fellow is truly honourable in his intentions. You see, if one explores the exact phrasing of his famed _Dedication _speech…" _Yep, he's not going to get on with it any time soon_, "… Ralse has not only a deep rooted adoration but a psychological need to accomplish…" _Come on, old man, I just want to hear the gossip about Celes and Locke! _Relm started fiddling with a loose thread on her nightgown. The candles flickered down in their holders.

"Okay!" Locke shouted, and she jumped. "I'm really glad you're so enthusiastic, I'll be Draco, you can be Ralse but what about Maria?" _Maria, hey? Hm. I can totally see myself in the limelight, especially with that ribbon she wears. _

_"_I thought at first of asking Terra," continued Locke, unaware of the awful, unstoppable wheels he had set in motion inside Relm's head, "But there's no way she'd be able to keep the secret from Celes. And I think if I asked Setzer now to ship her over from Mobliz, all they'd ever find of me would be a pack of cards." _Ribbons are nice. Paintings of Granddad always turn out better when he's wearing ribbon. They make him look so imposing. I wonder how Gau would look in ribbons…_

"Well, my dear boy, I could always play Maria as well. I am capable of being quite the soprano when 'tis required." _No, Gau's pretty enough already…_

"I'm sorry Cyan but there is no way on this earth **or the last one** that I am letting you go on as Maria**_._**" _Perhaps it's time I put a stop to their bickering, funny as it is… It could go on all night and I need my beauty sleep. _

"The star has arrived!" she announced brightly, stepping out into the open doorway with a flourish. Their faces fell in shock, and an awkward silence ensued. "No, no, no need to thank me, Locke. I know your show just couldn't go on without a beautiful young ingénue to play Maria and well… _look who's here!"_ She struck a pose, simultaneously flashing a smile that was at once dazzling, demure and generally indicative of star quality.

"Uhm. Relm. Firstly… well, I'm not even going to ask _why_ you're here or why you're pulling that face, but I'm going to guess that you've been eavesdropping?"

"Yeah, it's sort of what I do."

"We know."

"…So? Do I get to be Maria?"

"Well. No. You're too tiny – can you even sing? Whatever, just _no_. It's too weird."

"Well, I guess I'll have to go and tell Celes about it all then."

"What? _No!" _Cyan looked quite as upset by the idea as Locke. Clearly the romance of the situation had gotten to him.

What followed was the spectacle of two grown men grovelling before Relm, much to her personal satisfaction, in an attempt to get her to not ruin their plans and in fact to take the leading role in their show. _I love how manipulative I can be. Even more than ribbons._

* * *

Once that was decided, Locke sent a grumpy Setzer back with a hasty message for Celes. As soon as his airship had soared off into the rising sun, the day began, passing in a blur of rehearsing, outfit-finding (fortunately there seemed to be plenty of white dresses in the stores. And Relm had her own ribbon stash) and scenery-painting. Locke had to admit that Relm came in handy there.

Although he knew magic was long gone from the world, he could have sworn he saw one of the wooden backdrop's painted courtiers eying him up. Maybe she'd just sketched his face like that to unnerve him.

If so, she probably deserved the slightly awkward discovery, when it came to the ghost-waltz scene, that Relm was in fact too tiny. It didn't really look like she was waltzing with Locke. It looked like she was doing something altogether more unfortunate.

"Um," said Locke after the third attempt, the most uncomfortable yet. He felt sort of like the leaf bunnies in the undergrowth were judging him. Relm gave him a look of unadulterated contempt that seemed to imply it was entirely his fault for having a gutter-mind, and also for being too tall. Despite himself, Locke was impressed by the sheer iciness of the expression. Celes could learn a thing or two from her.

_Celes. _They only had a few more hours before Setzer was scheduled to bring her here. Cyan, standing nearby in the armour and sword he had insisted on carving from wood and painting himself despite owning several full authentic suits, stroked his chin. "Hmm."

"This isn't going to work. Not with Relm."

"It has to," insisted Relm, "Or Celes will find out about everything. This. Minute."

"We're not even on the same continent as her!"

"I will _find a way."_

Cyan pulled on the ends of his moustache contemplatively. "As you might put it, Master Locke: methinks I have a _really _bad idea."

* * *

Locke would have wondered where Gau had learned to waltz, but, he reflected, Gau _was _living with Cyan. In Cyan's parenting guide, waltzing probably came somewhere between flower arranging and the Eight Degrees Of Formal Bowing.

Not only was Gau waltzing, but he was essentially doing so blindfold. (Locke didn't want to think about why Cyan might consider _that _an essential skill.) The long, white skirt of Relm's Maria dress puffed over its crinoline, covering Gau from head to toe while Relm herself sat astride his shoulders, glare almost level with Locke's face. It was definitely lucky that neither Relm nor Gau had had a major growth spurt in the last few years, reflected Locke, and that Maria's dress was intended to be floor-sweeping. He had a feeling Gau would have drawn the line at high heels.

Celes had looked a little worried when she first appeared in their appointed clearing, escorted by Setzer. Possibly Locke's disappearing for a day after ending the night on that sort of note hadn't been his most sensible decision. She seemed to have recovered by now, at least. He could see her from the stage out of the corner of his eye, leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing with her hands covering her mouth and shoulders shaking from either emotion or laughter. At this point, Locke wasn't altogether sure which would be preferable.

The small box by the stage issuing music as if from a ghostly orchestra – a gift from Edgar to Cyan, untouched until that morning – stirred into a higher key; Locke took his cue to disappear from the stage as the phantom he portrayed. Peeking around the corner of the backdrop, he watched the roses Cyan had provided soaring from the stage, watched Cyan himself ascend to take Relm's hand as Prince Ralse – felt a sudden, hot, inexplicable swoop of jealousy deep down in his gut.

A blink.

_He is back in the Jidoor Opera House, back before feelings have been realised and a world shattered. Half-watching the opera from the rafters, this time, heart racing with the violins as he struggles forward to save Celes – falling, her head, promised to protect her, no no __**no–**_

_And on the stage a nameless, faceless man takes Celes' hand for a dance._

_A surge of emotion, searing as the phoenix flame. For Locke, a world teetering towards destruction stops, just for a moment._

_A blink._

In the clearing, Locke drew his wooden costume blade as if wishing it were steel and leapt up onto the stage. _"Maria," _he called, but the name that echoed in his mind was very different.

Cyan's voice boomed in response, the words indistinct to Locke's ears; his own lines came to his mouth without thought.

_"Then we duel!"  
_  
He barely gave Cyan time to finish the line before charging, sword-first. They had choreographed this fight together earlier that day, he recalled hazily, Cyan making constant and bemusing references to X and O, which Locke had assumed formed some bizarre sort of samurai's fencing notation. Now, however, he threw the planned duel to the winds, battering again and again at Ralse's blade in an attempt to break past his guard.

Ralse? Cyan. Or was it Ralse? The music was a pounding rush in Locke's ears – or was he Draco? Either way, the man in front of him stood between him and-

A white blur barrelled into him from the side, sprawling him down on the boards. The sword skittered out of his grasp, its blade almost splintered.

_"__**NOT. HURT."**_

Gasping, Locke attempted to sit up, coming face to irate face with Relm in the process. The voice seemed to be issuing from Relm's midsection, which was currently forming an improbably heavy weight on Locke's chest.

**_"NOT. HURT. MR THOU."_**

The music stopped and the weight lifted. Locke glimpsed Cyan's concerned expression as he began the process of reassuring Gau while disentangling him from both Relm and the crinoline, but his attention was caught by Celes.

She was standing at the edge of the stage, now, gripping its edge with white knuckles and appearing in two minds as to whether she should climb up to him. Locke felt the heightened emotion of the opera dissipate and his sense of self return, along with a rush of blood to his face and a heavy sickness to his stomach.

Running off after a proposal and a disappointment. Abandoning her with barely any explanation, sidetracked by a foolish mission – like he'd never done _that _before – and losing his head in the middle of the one thing he'd-

She didn't deserve this. _He _didn't deserve her-

Struggling to his feet, he vaulted off the stage and chased the dying sunlight into the forest.

* * *

Before an hour had elapsed, soft steps and a breath of warmth from behind him brought a brief, unwilling smile to his face. A treasure hunter always covered his tracks, even in a rage of regret, but then Celes had always had a talent for finding him no matter what.

"I can't believe you did that."

He shook his head, ready to apologise for anything and everything, but a touch of her hand on his – a tug at that ring, again – brought him to a halt. Locke turned to face her directly. Celes was smiling.

"I mean, I can't believe you found the script, and _learnt _the script – gods, it isn't even as if you were using it to get hold of an airship. And you got all our friends involved and," while her face remained solemn, her words began to break into laughter, "You danced with Relm, _and _with Gau…"

Locke felt his face flush again, but less painfully – this time, the smile she brought to his face stayed. He knew what he wanted to do. "I know how the ending goes, now, you know."

"Really?

"Really." Locke reached inside his wooden breastplate, where he had secreted the ragged script. He turned to a few pages from the end, although he knew the story without prompting.

"Here – Draco triumphs over Ralse, and promises Maria a life of peace. Both men beg her to return to them... and then Maria chooses. It's – the script isn't clear which man she's singing to in the grand finale. Cyan says the words could be referring to either. I- we were going to have Maria choose Draco, for, um, obvious reasons, but the fact that _she_ chooses, herself, after everything… it just stuck with me." He squeezed her hand a little tighter. "It reminded me of you."

"I see," murmured Celes, one finger following a line of the text, the other hand still tangled in Locke's. And then she began to sing.

_… I see in your eyes, so gentle and wise_

_All doubts and fears erased …_

(A few trees away, Cyan sniffled stealthily, wiped at his eyes with a handkerchief, and restrained himself from providing Ralse's harmony in the final verse.)

… _Our love, come what may,_

_Will never age a day,_

_I'll wait forevermore… _

* * *

"I _cannot wait _to do this!" Edgar was almost dancing around the room; Locke, sitting at the centre of his orbit, had decided to just wait it all out. "It's been far too long – I can't believe we never got around to getting all the boys together for a night out. It's going to be _so great – _we'll go to Zozo, don't give me that look, I know a place, fantastic staff, brilliant customer satisfaction standards. Tolerable drinks. I swear, Locke, we're going to give you a night you'll never forget!"


End file.
